Phantom Rising
by CrownedIahos
Summary: This is my take on the whole Harry Potter/Phantom of the Opera idea. Don't know if I can capture the beauty of it, but I'll try. Please R&R! Of course it's HG/SS


The updates for this one might be far and few between until I iron out exactly where I want this to go. I want every chapter to at least be this long. But once I get to the exciting parts, the story will mostly stay Hermione's PoV. I just felt after a few months this should be available to the public. Also I am still working diligently on MoW and SoT:TtCtF so I hope you like, please R&R. Forever grateful, I.Am.Helena.Of.Shakespeare.

* * *

The light hit his eyes like a knife. He squinted, hoping that it was heaven he was in. How nice a death, the snake's bite. He must have been a Gryffindor after all. He found that he could move, but barely. Was this how heaven would treat him? Was he to be condemned to lay here, lifeless? He tried moving more, but something soft touched his chest. He opened his eyes further. He wasn't in heaven, nor was he dead. He was laying in a bed in St. Mungo's looking up at a petite nurse. She smiled at him.

"Easy there. You need to rest." her voice was squeaky. She moved around, he heard her pick up a tray and bring it over. He found he couldn't look left without pain. What had the snake's bite done? The nurse moved closer and placed the tray on the bedside table.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice raspy with disuse.

"My name's Claire Reynolds: I'm your Healer." She said this with a sort of mechanical tone, as though she'd said it a million times before.

"How long have I been in here?" He asked, his voice clearing some as he shifted the pillows beneath him, so he could sit up.

Claire pulled out a potion and put it in a goblet. She handed it to him before answering."About seven years, Mr. Snape." Without pause at his shock, she took the goblet he had just emptied and filled it with another potion.

He drank that before asking yet another question."What happened?"

Claire looked at him."I don't know. When you came in you were Death. You were barely breathing, you had near to no blood left in your body. The bite marks on your neck weren't healing. It took a lot of hard work to get you to move, let alone talk."

He stared at her for a moment, the events rushing back to him. He'd been lying in that Shack. Dead on the floor, he knew he'd been dead. Then how in the bloody hell was he here, alive, and as she had said, talking? Silence reigned as she passed him the last potion on the tray. He drank that, barely thinking to check if it was poison. What would it matter? Hadn't he already died?

"When you think your strong enough, we'll start your therapy. You'll be walking in no time." Claire smiled cheerily and picked up the tray. She walked directly out the door and closed it behind her.

The silence after her leaving was odd. He, in the heavy quiet, had more than enough time to think of everything. Had she really said seven years? What had happened? How had he survived?  
Months passed like this, he had no visitors but kept receiving get well cards. He asked Claire, who seemed to be his full-time Healer, about them and she just smiled."There's a ghost about. No one enters your room, yet these keep popping up."

They collected over the months he remained there. He had about a hundred when he finally began walking. It was unsteady, unsure. He felt like a guest in his own body, trying to work limbs long forgotten. The pain had been unbearable the first time. The second, he was apprehensive. By the third, he could walk to the end of the bed without pain. Within four months, he was walking around the ward. This is how he found out that no one was there. At least not by the records. No names were on the doors. No sheets saying this or that about the patient's progress. He found this strange. What kind of ward didn't keep records? Again he asked Claire, who merely shrugged it off saying,

"Whoever put you and the others in this ward are rich; They must be. They tell us to keep everything we hear, see, or say in here private. Only the patron of a patient can hear any details. It's kind of like the muggle FBI. When we take up a certain patient we have to take a Wizarding Oath not to speak a word of what we do. It's rather unnerving, because you don't know who you are really healing."

He frowned at her. What was an FBI? And who would put money on the line to ensure no one knew he was there? He walked away, to his room, to find yet another card. With an anger, he ashed every last one of them. He wanted out of here. He wanted out of here now.  
He bent down picking up a card that had fallen, missing the inferno. Yet, it wasn't a card. He turned it over and then it opened.

It read, in nice aristocratic writing he thought familiar:

_Dear Mr. Snape,  
We have tried contacting you through many ways. You have not answered any of our attempts. We are trying once more in the hope that you will finally answer. Your father, Tobias Snape, left two properties in your possession. The first, a derilict home with three bedrooms, one bath. The second, an abandoned theatre. We would appreciate it if you came to these places and deemed their future. We cannot destoy them, it is not in our power. Please respond forthwith.  
Sincerely,  
Marcus Alfman_He gazed at this for a long time. Why would his father leave him anything? When had he ever cared? With a determined air to get out, Severus sent an acceptance to this Marcus Alfman, and laid back in his bed. It'd give him a reason to leave. He was perfectly healed. Now was time to get back into what he called life, it was time to live anew.

* * *

Hermione was walking into the front door of the Burrow. Ginny was having a baby shower. Hermione didn't really want to be here. Her break-up with Ron wasn't the most civil of moments. He turned over many tables in that restaurant. She didn't want to admit it at first, but she knew they weren't right. Ron was a Quidditch-loving, not unintelligent but still not in her league, unsensitive boy. No matter what they said, he hadn't grown in those years. He was a bit brighter when it came to feelings, but he wasn't catching on. Hermione wanted a career and to settle down wasn't in her nature. She wanted to explore, to see the world. She wouldn't have had that chance had she settled down. She had seen many things.

She had brewed with Arabian Potioneers, debated with Romanian Transfigurists and Arithmatists. She had had an extraordinary time. Ginny had settled down with Harry, Ron had moved out of the Burrow, Neville and Luna had had a fling. Luna was now out being a enviromentalist, Neville apprenticing under Sprout. Ron was an Auror, like Harry. Hermione followed through with her desire to be in Law Enforement, no matter what she had said to Scrimgeour. She was well on her way to being Head of the Department. She took a deep breath, put on a smile and entered.  
Ginny was placing a tray of biscuits around a small table, Mrs. Weasley was busying herself with tea. Luna had shown, though Ginny hadn't expected her to and so had the Patil twins. Hermione was greeted by them first.

"Hello, Hermione!" She hugged them both. Her mood had brightened now that she was in the company of friends. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

"Hermione, dear?" asked Mrs. Weasley. Hermione walked over and grabbed the tray of tea.

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley. How are you?"

"Just fine, just fine. Oh--thank you." She smiled as Hermione gestured for her to sit."And please call me Molly. We're all adults now."

"Not so sure about that, some of them still look like children." said a male voice. Hermione looked up to see George.

She hurriedly hugged him. He'd been the first one to put grieving aside, saying, "Life's too short to cry. Besides, Fred told me, 'If I die first, you have to put my ashes in the shop window. That way I'm always on sale.' "

Hermione had laughed, as had the rest of the Weasleys. It helped them see some kind of light after Voldemort. George walked over to Ginny, gave her a hug, and sat down.

"Are we waiting for anyone else?" asked George as he snuck a biscuit out from under Ginny's nose.

"I think Harry may be coming. But he said something about a Death Eater lead and didn't promise."Ginny answered, snatching the biscuit back.

Hermione nodded and turned to the closest seat, ploping down and relaxing. They began opening presents and laughing at some of the silly things given to Ginny. Hermione felt herself smiling in this company. It felt good to let go. Maybe it was a good idea to accept this. Maybe she could move on. She needed something to occupy her time with is all. What could she do?

"Oh, Hermione. Did you hear about that morale booster they are paying for?"

Hermione looked up at Parvati's voice. "Morale Booster?"

The twins nodded."They are offering a reward for the best one. People haven't really been supporting the Ministry and so they concocted this plan that if they find a worthy enough activity, they can back it and show the people that the Ministry cares."

Padma continued where Parvati left off."And the top candidates are some weird concert by a band I've never heard of or a muggle play. I think it was called Phantom of the Opera."

At this Hermione, who had been off in no man's land, looked up. A muggle play? Why in heaven's name would the Ministry back a muggle play? And how much were they willing to fork up for this 'activity'?

"What is the reward?" asked Hermione, as she shifted in her seat. She had always loved the Phantom of the Opera. It was a beautiful story. She needed to find out more about this. It could be the distraction she needed.

Ginny laid down her cooling tea and picked up the Prophet."I think it was four thousand galleons. That's a lot of money for a silly play."

She threw the paper at Hermione who confirmed the prize. She made sure to remember the casting schedules.

"It's not a play. It's an opera and it's not silly." snapped Hermione, she hadn't meant it to come out like that.

"Well, sorry..."mumbled Ginny."I thought I was the one that was pregnant."

Hermione couldn't help herself, she laughed. But deep inside a fire had sparked. Who was behind this opera? Why did she care? Hermione said her goodbyes at seven and Apparated home. She slept in her nice comfy bed, dreaming of phantoms and theatres.

* * *

"I can't believe that man!" muttered a man with dusky tanned skin, he looked furious. His amber eyes narrowed at an invisible target. His mouth was a thin line and his nostrils flared. He had entered his apartment and thrown down his coat.

He walked with indignation to the living room and sat down next to an identical man. His hand ruffled his spiked golden locks into a curly mess. The latter looked to his clone and quirked an eyebrow.

"What's wrong, Steren?"

Steren breathed heavily for a minute before turning to his brother."That damn brat thinks Clarke is a better set designer than me. He said he was going with 'Sebastian Clarke.'" He mumbled,"That dirty bastard!", under his breath.

The other one, who had the same amber eyes but with less fire at the moment, looked to Steren."Who? Clarke is a dead-beat old man. He might need the money but has lost the craft. He's like a summer day without the sun."

"Malfoy, of course!" screeched Steren angrily. "He's doing that damned Phantom thing and is so aggravating! I swear he'll be crawling back, Edric. I swear."

Edric smiled at his brother, his eyebrows lifting slightly into his jet black hair. Always quick to anger and so sure of himself. But he had to take the good with the bad. His brother had an eye for scenes and places. He was very good with designing sets and making the most out of very little.

"You know he will, Steren." said Edric encouragingly."He'll see his mistake. Did they beat the concert then?"

Steren turned to the book his brother was holding."Yes, they did. And what are you reading?"

Edric, who knew the title and story already looked down at the book. "Queen of the Damned. You know I'm a sucker for Anne Rice."

Steren smiled."Yes, I know..."

He looked around the room. the T.V. across from them was off, a magazine precariously balanced on it. The bookcase on the wall to its right was jumbled and there were gaps where books were missing. There were candles and wax all over it as well. The carpet had shoes and clothes all over it: You couldn't tell if they were dirty or not. The coffee table had a few books and magazines as well as CDs and DVDs. Steren stood.

"I swear, I wish you were passive gay."

Edric looked up from his book; he had resumed when his brother began observing the room. Looking around, he frowned in confusion.

"What do you mean? I'm the stereotypical hederosexual guy. Besides, we have agreed that I do hair and make the outfits and you worry about what people will think of _OUR," _He put much emphasis on that word."living quarters. If no one's coming I don't worry. I know what's clean."

"I don't see how." said Steren, as he gathered up the clothes and put it in the hamper."Now how hard was that?"

Edric didn't look up this time."I wouldn't know, you're the one who did it."

Steren growled and threw a shoe at him, before picking up the paper and reading the audition times. That fool would regret his choice.

* * *

A haughty woman sat in front of a mirror in a hotel. She turned this way and that, inspecting her flawless face. She mumbled a mantra under her breath.

"Light flowing brown hair, alluring hazel eyes, soft feautres," She pursed her lips. "lucious lips," She ran her hand down her side, "lucious body, alabaster skin...Hmmm.."

She leaned forward, plucking a near invisible hair. The mirror reflecting her tutted. She ignored this, moving around getting the makeup off the table and placing it in her bags. She straightened everything up and walked to the closet grabbing her most 'look at me' outfit. She put it on, doing twirls and admiring her features. She whisked a taped picture of herself and a few men off the mirror and placed it in her bag. She did another turn then sat down. She began observing her features again. The mirror huffed as she got up, seemingly unable to look away from herself.

"Vanity is a sin, Victoria." the mirror mumbled.

The woman laughed even more haughtily than she looked."I'm not vain, Isadora, I'm convinced." and, grabbing her bags and that day's paper, left the room.

* * *

A strong looking man sat in his nice soft chair, nursing a cognac, staring into oblivion. His one chance at redemption was this upcoming opera. He could prove himself worthy of the stage again. He could prove he was still talented. He was an actor yet. A woman walked in and handed him the paper.

"It's your time, Yalani. It's your chance at freedom."

The man, Yalani, turned to the woman, she had aged gracefully, not many wrinkles marked her face and her hair was still a dark red. She smiled at him. He only wished he could age like her.

"I know, Verena. I know. I just hope they accept me. I did not leave with any poise."

Verena smiled at her son's lit green eyes. He had been replaced and showed up the next show, taking over where the replacement had left off and missed many notes. In his rush to prove his worth, he showed his ass, so to speak. He could never show his face again. She didn't approve of his childish behaviour but was not going to disown him. He was her only child.

"They will, Yalani. They will."

Yalani stood and hugged his mother. She kept him sane. He wouldn't be anywhere without her.

* * *

Two men were walking up a lane to the meeting place of their regular brainstorming. One was tall and had shoulder length graying hair. He looked like a scholar and walked with a strut. His companion was shorter but more filled out and had short black hair that was combed back. He wore a cravat. They sought the bar they almost lived in and, finding it, entered the smoky atmosphere. The men around them where chatting and laughing over events of that day. It always went like this. They were retired actors and found that getting back into their beloved theatres was harder than leaving. They were told they were washed up. That they were not in demand.

The barman addressed the shorter man first, as was his custom. "What'll it be today, Mr Keane, Mr Gossard?"

Gossard stood against the bar as Keane sat on a stool.

"I'll have a martini, shaken not stirred," said Gossard, "and a Screwdriver for my friend, please."

The bartender passed them their drinks and both sipped quietly, turning to the activity behind them.

Gossard spoke first. "What is our scheme for today, Josef?" His tone was bored and not conversational.

Josef looked to Gossard."Scheme? I thought you cared about getting back into theatre, Byron? Lost heart?"

Byron looked away from the poker game across the way."Not lost heart. Just growing tired of the same old things. I want to take action. We have planned and planned."He gestured as though there was a map or blueprints in front of him. "I want to do something positive, something real."

"We have resigned ourselves to schemes I suppose." replied Josef.

Byron laughed."Lost heart, Josef?"

Josef looked at him and smiled wryly."So what is our scheme for today?"

The barman, who had been listening to this conversation, butted in.

"Would this help?"

They both turned around to see an article in front of them.

_**Casting for Morale Booster Event: Phantom Of the Opera**_

_The Ministry Sponsored Event has been chosen. It is a muggle play about a theatre terrorized by a Phantom. In this Ministry Event, everyone is invited. The Ministry encourages everyone to attend and help raise the lowered spirits of the battered Magical community. We all have felt the blow since He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's defeat. Help us heal from that horrid time and join the festivities. Parts to be auditioned for are listed as well as needed help._

**Cast:**

_Phantom_

_Christine Daae_

_Raoul De Chagny_

_Madame Giry_

_Meg Giry_

_M.Firmin_

_M.Andre_

_Piangi_

_Reyer_

_Buquet_

_Lefevre_

_Carlotta's Maid_

_Carlotta's Wigmaker_

_Carlotta's Seamstress_

_Passirino_

_Auctioneer_

_Porter_

_Nun/Nurse_

_Chauffeur_

_Christine's Father_

_Young Phantom_

_Young Christine_

_Young Meg_

_Young Madame Giry_

_In addition to many dancers and large chorus._

**Crew:**

_Set designer_

_Hairdresser_

_Costumer_

_Technician_

_Front-of-house_

_The times are listed below. Each part will be posted in the Prophet when filled. _

_Auditions from Monday 14th to Friday 18th November inclusive - 10:30am to 6:00pm_

_In the Malfoy Manor. Appointments are necessary._

The men looked at each other. This was their chance.

"Are you through with that?" Asked a kind middle-aged woman, who had been sitting at the bar for a while.

Both of them looked up. The woman smiled and gestured toward the paper.

"Oh, yes, Arlette, we're through." Byron handed the paper to her and she thanked them walking away and sitting back in her seat.

She gasped when she read the article. This was what she had been waiting for. She had asked the Fates to give her a sign as to what she should be doing. And here, catching her unawares, was a sign. She looked through the list and found the role for her. She could still sing her heart out. This was her chance.She pushed back her brown hair and flashed her light blue eyes. She still had it. Getting up quickly she rushed home to owl the Malfoys, praying to the Fates to help her. She was an actress by God, and she wasn't going to let this oppurtunity pass by.


End file.
